


ignore all those big warning signs . . .

by flesh_and_bone



Category: 90s - Fandom, Blur, Britpop - Fandom
Genre: 90's Music, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Band Fic, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Slow Burn, Teenager AU, endless summer holidays, farie!damon, i won't try to make this too depressing lol, lil bit of magic, no specific era, perplexed!graham, slighthobo!damon, written to sad music tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:12:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flesh_and_bone/pseuds/flesh_and_bone
Summary: "So you live in the woods like Winnie the Pooh?" Graham asked and Damon spat out his ginger beer in disgust."Winnie the what?!?!"hobo farie and wannabe guitar player spend the summer together trying to avoid superstitious locals and irritating siblings  whilst ignoring the elephant in the room. (title based off of the song "yellow light" by of monsters and men)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this my first time writing fanfic! damn, not sure if that's sad or not. kinda doing this as a summer project to keep myself busy. if there's any way to interpret this au i'd go for a narnia/famous five/timeless vibe. thank you lots for reading!

According to his memory, it was the warmest summer Graham could remember and therefore it made the move from Dorset to Essex even worse than his own expectations, which in all fairness were pretty low to begin with. Maybe it was his pessimistic outlook on leaving all of his friends or maybe the fact that his sister got to go to summer camp (so what if it was run by church people? they had a pool!) while he shifted boxes with his parents that made him resentful, whatever the case it was going to be a long eight weeks. 

During the first week of the move he'd only been able to phone his friend, Alex, twice ( which was the only highlight apart from getting to pick his room) using the payphone next to his local post office due to the fact his parents hadn't sorted out the landline yet. Their conversations were unsatisfyingly short because of Graham's lack of cash- nearly all of his pocket money had been used up on his guitar and god forbid he touched his university savings, his mother would have his guts for garters.

Alex had also managed to get himself grounded in Graham's absence, as only Alex could, after coming home from a party twenty-four hours late to be precise ("I need you to keep me in line Graham, next thing you know, I'll be doing drugs in Bournemouth Garden!" "Pfft, as if Al") which meant Graham was very unsure on when it was safe to call. Before the move, there had been one or two incidents when he'd completely forgotten that Alex was in trouble and had turned up at his house only to be shouted/shooed (it depended on how sensitive you were) away. Eventually the two had decided to write instead to save the hassle. 

As the days slowly progressed and week two of the move began it was as if fate had decreed that Graham's only friends this summer were going to be his guitar and a sunhat. It was too hot to be inside, messing around with tunes and techniques on his guitar, plus he could sometimes get on his mother's nerves, so Graham had opted for sitting at the bottom of his garden with some "ginger beer" (some days it was more beer than ginger) and a plectrum. It also gave him a good excuse to not to unpack box after box into their new house aka an old cottage that had been renovated and made quite a bit bigger even though it still had the same sloping walls and thatched roof.

For the first few days of week two it was just sunny blur of music (when he was sure that he was really alone Graham even tried singing a few tunes), sat under the willow tree that faced the very bottom of the garden which was on a slope. Once or twice he'd even tried rolling down said slope (just to relive his childhood of course, not because he thought it would be fun. That would have been uncool), right down to where garden shrubbery backed onto the great expanse that was woodland. That was when he spotted the pair of eyes watching him from the bushes.

 

//

 

"How close are our neighbours Mum?" Graham carefully asked over supper as his father carved a chicken into smaller pieces that could possibly resemble chicken if you had a highly active imagination. Carving was really not his forte.

"Hmmm, let's see" Graham's Mum pondered, serving him some sort of summer salad to which he grimaced at. "Well if you go left from our drive that's a twenty minute walk to the village which means our neighbours are half a mile on the other side of the road if you go right. Why'd you ask?"

" I dunno" Graham shrugged, taking some chicken that his father offered him. "I guess I thought I saw someone near our house today. Like in the woodland. Ish"

Okay, that was an understatement, he'd been trying to see if he could stop himself rolling into the bushes without his glasses (all in the name of nostalgia of course) when he was sure he'd seen a pair of bright blue eyes gazing at him from the end of his garden. Yelping with a start, he'd straightened up and grabbed his glasses but the pair of eyes had gone in a flash, leaving the teenager slightly shaken.

"Ish?" Graham's Dad questioned as they began to eat. " Are you sure? The woods back there are private property; we should report trespassers to the landlord, unless those trespassers are us of course- I'm joking, I'm joking!"

"Honestly," His mother tutted as Graham smiled at his plate, inwardly questioning if anyone had really been there or if he was suffering from sunstroke- he had been pretty thin with the suncream that morning. "Let's try not to get kicked off the property before your daughter gets home"

"When you put it like that...." The voices of his parents slowly drifted away as Graham began to think deeply about the events that had happened today. No, he wasn't drunk, he was too smart to get ridiculously hammered in his own back garden with his parents running around and he didn't seem to be hallucinating things (Or as Alex liked to put it when he was very drunk "illusioning things") either. Maybe it was just the cloudless sky that he'd seen, he was lying at an odd angle from when he'd rolled and it easily could have been that peeping through the leaves instead of eyes. Well they sky doesn't have eyebrows, he sullenly thought but knocked the contradiction away. Yes, that made much more sense and was totally plausible, who would even be in those woods anyway to start off with? They were miles away from anywhere of importance from Graham's perspective. 

 

//

 

Even so, that night Graham wrote a very careful letter to Alex by his window, detailing his slightly dramatic day, took one last look at the garden before pulling his curtains too and tried not to think about those blue eyes- however beautiful he'd might have imagined them to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's more exciting, muriel's 70th birthday or mystery people in the bushes???? i couldn't tell you even if i wanted to

The next morning Graham woke up and came downstairs, only to be greeted by a note on the fridge that informed him that his parents had gone on an all day shopping trip into town. Sighing greatly (He'd been counting on his mother to give him a lift to the post office so he didn't have to travel in the heat) the teenager made himself breakfast and proofread his letter to Alex. Would Al think he was being delusional? It was very easy to imagine what his friend might respond with; a sarcastic jibe about checking the dates on his bottles or if the pair of eyes were connected to something a tad more  interesting- easy things Graham could laugh off.

Back in Dorset, Alex was the womanizer of the pair for sure and Graham was... well Graham was just Graham, wasn't he? Every time the young boy tried thinking too deeply about what he wanted or who he liked he got rather hot under the collar and would often go off to play his guitar. Maybe it was because  he always got off on the wrong foot with girls and he just couldn't see himself dating them.....

Shaking these thoughts away, he finished his porridge, tidied up the kitchen and made sure there was a stamp on his envelope. Opening up the garage, he rescued his bike from the endless clutter that his father had somehow already managed to create and began the cycle  to the village.

 

//

 

Cotsworth was such a  tiny village that the post office had been closed because of "Muriel's 70th birthday at the village hall, come join in the fun!" so Graham ended up just shoving his letter into the first post box that he found, a particularly faded red one by the recreation ground. Peddling around the perimeter of the reaction ground he found a  very disheveled play park. The forlorn swing set looked rather tempting, seats still in the summer heat, but it turned out that plastic is hot and Graham's shorts were very thin. Mumbling a few swear words he got back onto his bike. _Stupid swings._ Graham began to peddle home. _That's what you get for not acting your age, idiot._

Since when did he care about acting his age though? Maybe it was all of the mentalities from his last school, an all boys grammar, that were finally seeping in. What was that thing that his old english teacher thought controlled the school? _Toxic Masculinity._ Graham wasn't sure if he believed that one, it was more likely to be money, respect or street cred. Were they the same? Graham shook himself out of his daze and tried to focus on not cycling into a gate. There was no point spending the summer  with his arm in a cast because of philosophical daydreams.

 

 //

 

Once he got back home Graham made himself a cold drink, grabbed his guitar and headed straight to the garden  for another strumming session. The very moment he thought he was relaxed though, his mind drifted to the eyes in the bushes.  Of course a tiny part of him was very nervous but Graham tried not to entertain the notion that someone was out there behind his garden- a concept that worked for all half an hour. He was half way through a new rift he was working on when the bushes at the end of his garden rustled. Assuming it was a pigeon or an overheated squirrel Graham decided to ignore it and carry on playing, which was fine apart from the fact that the rustling didn't stop at all. He strummed louder, trying to ignore the **_rustlerustlerustle_** , before he forgot the new melody that was forming in his head  After a few more tedious seconds of **_rustlerustlerustle_** he snapped, fed up and greatly agitated by the heat.

Fuck off!"  And the rustling instantly stopped.

Graham quickly stood up, putting down his guitar as a cold sweat broke out across his neck.

"....Hello?"

One step towards the bush.

"Hello? Who's there?" Another step. The bush seemed to shaking ever so slightly, like someone was trying to slowly move away without being spotted, rather unsuccessfully to be frank.

"I-i, I'm armed!" _Yes, if you wanted to give someone a paper cut with a plectrum then you are armed **and** dangerous, _ Graham cynically thought but still advanced, determined not to be scared on his own property.

"If you don't come out then I'll come in!"

The stranger in the bush bolted instantaneously, Graham caught a flash of limbs, blonde hair and before he knew what he was doing, he too had dove through the shrubbery in hot pursuit, determined to catch the stranger, to prove that he wasn't going crazy. Twigs caught his thighs and arms and the sun glared off his glasses, obscuring his vision, yet he carried on running, the heat slowing him down but not stopping his stubbornness. Was it a boy or a girl he was chasing? Between his desperate pants and the speed that the stranger was sprinting at Graham couldn't tell, the only thing he could do was pursue.  However the mysterious person was more agile, made a sharp turn and Graham slipped, tumbling head first into the undergrowth.

His first thought was, _shit my glasses,_ as they had flown off his face during the fall and then: _oh god I'm in the middle of private property, completely lost- mum will kill me._ Instead of getting up and trying to get his bearings Graham lay back and closed his eyes in defeat. So there was a person in the bushes, he wasn't crazy. Now that he knew that for sure the question was who were they? A serial killer, ready to murderer him? No, they wouldn't have run off. A neighbour? Very unlikely, this place was deserted, no people in sight. Graham spent a good amount of time pondering the endless possibilities before getting up and trying to find his specs.

 

//

 

After few hours of wandering through the woods (and allot of grumbling directed towards the woodland in general) the teenager arrived home, without his glasses and with a rather sour mood. Stumbling through the bushes, he headed up the garden and was met by his mother in the kitchen, holding his slightly scratched glasses with a frown.

"I almost tripped on these when carrying the shopping in Gra. Please don't leave them on the doormat" She chided, trying her best to look quite annoyed. "Are your legs okay?"

Numbly nodding Graham took his glasses and put them back on, pretending to act like he'd put them down for a bit and forgotten about them. He had searched for ages and not found them, how the hell did that stranger find them and get back to Graham's house before Graham did? More importantly, why even return them at all? What did it mean? What did that person want?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "personal bike rides" have never been this interesting.

"No post on Sundays," Graham's dad chirped, sipping his coffee as his son impatiently paced around the living room. Graham's mother had gone out to a church bake sale and both men of the Coxon family had refused to accompany her. "Anyway I doubt your Alex would be able to respond in day, given his track record of getting things done."

"Alex can be very focused when he want to be" The young boy defensively retorted before pausing by the coffee table as a thought struck him. "Speaking of getting things done, when are you getting our phone sorted out? I feel _ostracized_ when I have to write letters, like I'm in the dark ages."

"Ostracized? Next thing you know, you'll be laying eggs," Graham's dad chuckled, making his son huff. "What you need to do is to make some friends here, you can't exactly phone Alex during school can you? Anyway I saw a lad your age around here yesterday."

"You did?" Graham sharply looked up. "When?"

"Yesterday evening, for a few seconds as your mother and I were driving back from the shops. We were driving pretty fast but he was fairly tall, blonde, looked like he spent allot of time in the sun though the proper reason I remember him is because he was walking in this heat with no shoes! _He'll get blisters for sure!_ I said. Your mother thought he might be a runaway but I argued..."

 

 _Was that blonde boy my stranger?_ Graham found himself thinking as his father went off on another tangent about nothing in particular and that thought didn't leave him for the rest of the day. By two'o'clock he had found a reasonable excuse to get out the house, claiming he to wanted go on a "personal bike ride" which consisted of him cycling around the area he lived in, trying to familiarize himself with the woodland roads. His father didn't even look up from his paper and hummed a little goodbye as his son exited  the house.

 

//

 

The roads that Graham was used to in Dorset were usually quite simple, flat and mostly straight, surrounded by heath land, farmland or fields. That was one change he'd noticed so far. Here however, they were notoriously twisty, steep banks covered in mossy plants that stopped him from being able to see round corners and there were so many potholes he felt greatly harassed if anything.  The sun also proved to be a nuisance, without a cap Graham could slowly feel himself getting more sweaty-- that wasn't a cool look, even in the middle of nowhere.

In fact, the whole bike ride was so tortuous  that Graham simply couldn't relax and ended up cycling home. It also didn't help that there was a nagging feeling at the back of his head, like he was being watched and something, or even worse, someone was after him, like that film Jaws but ten times worse because at least the beach is a nice place to be whe-

The front wheel of the bike caught an extremely nasty pothole and in his zoned out state of mind Graham was flung onto the road in a haze of panic and pain.  Agony ripped through him like blade as he felt his legs get ripped to shreds by the rough tarmac and instantly he curled up into a ball. _Fuck._ Sometimes only a single word is needed to summarize one's thoughts and feelings successfully. _Fuuuuck._

"Are you alright?!?"

A distant and unknown voice came from far off, visibly concerned. His helmet might have taken the brunt of the fall but Graham was still in rather deep shock and could barely groan, let alone voice how he was feeling. Eyes jammed shut he heard distant footfalls that were slowly getting closer, then scrambling like someone was climbing down. More footsteps, nearer now. Then, incredibly soft hands were at his neck, caressing? Searching for something??  He tried to react but his whole body felt heavy and it occurred to Graham that his glasses had flown off his face, _again._ Oh how silly. His thoughts were slipping away and Graham's usual sense of panic had been replaced by numbing pain, blood seeping from his shins.

"Oh thank fuck you've got a pulse, you gave me a right heart attack when I saw you on the ground! Shit, let me get your glasses," _Ohhhhhhh. He was looking for a pulse._ Graham felt silly for not realising, quickly became aware of the fact that he was lying around like a child and assumed the stranger probably thought he was a drama queen.  Forcing his eyes open, Graham pushed himself into an upright position and felt instantly nauseas. "Careful! You came off your bike pretty badly..."

Whatever the stranger said next went straight over the wounded teenager's head because the chatty boy had fully turned around, his hands outstretched, holding Graham's glasses and the teenager had been able to see his helper's face. _Those eyes_. Big and blue, like the sky itself had been liquefied and turned into beautiful sapphires. Breath taking. Then Graham noticed the pointed ears.

"You!" Snatching his glasses, Graham shoved them back onto his face in a hazardous fashion and shuffled backwards, pointing at the stranger's face, more specifically, the stranger's _pointed_ ears. Pointed ears! However when he tried to speak everything came out in rather a jumble. "Y-You! Your- Who? My garden- How? I- What?"

The stranger patiently waited for Graham to finish stuttering, sitting down opposite to him and crossing his legs, unfazed by the blisteringly hot tarmac. He looked about the same age as Graham, dressed in an oversized shirt and shorts, a ring in his left ear and that was pretty much it. No shoes, not even socks. His ears were Graham's main focus though, extremely pointed like...like... like an elf or something. Maybe it was because Dorset was rather sheltered from anything out of the ordinary or because the heat and pain was getting to him but it took Graham a while to form his first question.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Damon and I'm-" Damon started, rather pleased with himself but was cut off as Graham went to the next question.

" _What_ are you?"

"Ouch, no need to cut me off. I'm a..."Self consciously Damon's fingertips brushed his ears and then he frowned at Graham, as if a thought had crossed his mind. "I say, you're a tad judgemental, aren't you? That was quite rude,"

"I'm what?" Graham responded, more shocked than offended.  He'd never thought of himself as judgemental or even mean spirited before ("You're like Eyore with a guitar and glasses" had been Alex's worst way of describing Graham) and now felt personally attacked.

"What if I was a normal boy and you'd made a terrible mistake?" The tone of the other teenager confused Graham, as if Damon was alluding to not being... human? Normal? It was hard to tell. "I'd be in tears!"

"Well," Graham grunted, shifting into a position that was more comfortable while battling a vast amount of uncertainty. "What are you if you're "normal", as you say?"

"I'm a Forest Farie" Damon said with such an air of calmness and sincerity  that Graham was left stunned, unable to not believe him. Just like his mother said, there some things that are so peculiar or unusual that all you can do is accept them and move on. Sure, it didn't fully make sense nevertheless it was plausible for the situation they were in (for all Graham knew, Damon could be from Mars and it wouldn't make that much of a difference). "I live round here,  y'know?"

"Okay then," Graham numbly replied, deciding he might as well humour the stranger. "Let's say you are a "farie", that doesn't explain why you keep hiding out at the bottom of my garden in the bushes."

"Aha," Was Damon's response and he suddenly looked very awkward, almost guilty, focusing on Graham's left shoe.  "Well I shouldn't be doing that bit. In fact I shouldn't really be talking to you at really. Humans and Faries _talking_. There's allot of rules around that ("Rules?" Graham started but Damon kept talking) except the truth is I never thought anyone would live in the old cottage again and suddenly, out of the blue there was you! Graham! With your guitar, playing some great music for a human! I couldn't help myself, I really had to have a look....."

Damon wistfully trailed off, now gazing up at the trees with a sombre expression and Graham recognised an emotion that he knew all too well. Loneliness. It was awfully quiet out in the sticks by Cotsworth and even if Damon wasn't a "farie", it was very believable that he would feel isolated here, being Graham's age and all that. Feeling mildly resentfully that he was choosing to do so, yet also very empathetic for his peer, Graham decided to extend the hand of friendship- well, companionship for the time being. 

"I've got some ices in the freezer and plenty of ginger beer, if you'd like to come round sometime. I'm stuck here all summer." Graham mumbled  and before he'd even finished  his sentence, Damon was beaming.

"Really? Thanks mate ("OW!")  Oh yeah, your legs! Do you need any help with those?" Damon had learned forwards to give Graham a hug but had managed to catch his bruised and bloody shins. Apologizing greatly, the "farie" finally settled for wheeling Graham's bike home for him, mindlessly chattering about the woods and the village. By now the sun was setting, merely a golden glow behind the trees. Most of the conversation drifted through one ear and out the other for Graham, he felt like he was sleep walking. In his defence, he was still adjusting to all of the new information and had plenty more questions that would be saved for another day.

Once they got to the cottage driveway Damon gave Graham his bike back, a pat on the back and started heading down the road only to pause and turn round.

"BYE GRAHAM!"

Rather embarrassed, Graham gave an a small wave, squinting in the sun as his mother came out of the house. By the time she had reached the bottom of the drive Damon had already disappeared around the bend and all she could do was enquire about her son's legs, slightly worried but more pleased that he might have made an acquaintance.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's not a date if u don't know his species and it's in ur back garden.

**_Dear Coxy,_ **

**_Strange eyes in your bushes? I don't suppose it's a runaway prostitute?  I'm kidding, I'm kidding. But seriously, keep me updated on all of the craaaazy things that are sure to happen in Cotsworth. The only wild thing that has happened in Bournemouth so far is that Jarvis Cocker kicked off outside of Waitrose last week and almost got arrested for it. I guess the police don't appreciate the fine  arts students like they should. Without us what would happen to the thriving Dorset culture? It would flourish and this place would become even more of a tourist attraction than before. Dis-gus-ting._ **

**_I do miss you though, constantly complaining and everything, Daimen's bad dick jokes really do not fill the void. Please say that you are still doing your art. If so, keep at it; you shouldn't let dreary village life suck away your talent!  Also for the love of all things holy, please pester your dad to get your phone fixed for god's sake, next thing you know we'll be reverting back to the  stone age and I'll be carving my messages into  rocks! That reminds me, I've been ungrounded. Who knows, I might even be able to take the train and visit you for a few days. Send me some dates if you're interested, alright?_ **

**_from your biiiiigggest fan,_ **

**_Alex_ **

 

Reading Alex's letter over breakfast made Graham feel rather homesick but happy at the same, a great love for his old town swelling up in his chest (even though he had always been awkward around Jarvis, Justine and all of that lot). For a few moments he even forgot about the odd encounter he'd experienced the day before and let a serene sense of nostalgia wash over him. Just as Graham started to feel at peace with himself, his family and the world in general his mother clattered into the kitchen and started telling him all about the people she'd met at the bake sale yesterday.

 Whilst boiling the kettle she'd also made a huge point about how one of the mothers had a son called Dave who was just about Graham's age and if he came with her next week he might make a new _friend_. Before school! And wouldn't it be simply lovely to get to know someone else from the  village who was his age? Barely any of this registered though: He was now too preoccupied with the memories of his strange encounter he'd had with the so called "Farie", Damon . Who couldn't possibly be a Farie because that was impossible. Faries didn't exist. Delusional pretty boys were a thing but magic really wasn't, Graham knew that for sure but.... but what, surely there was nothing to question?  Apart from the fact that Graham slightly maybe believed him.

It was all terribly confusing.

For the mean time, while Damon was Graham's secret, it was allot more easy to assume that Damon was a very lonely and slightly odd boy who made up fantasy stories to keep himself entertained. Yes, that was what helped Graham sleep last night instead of freaking out.  In his gut he knew the logic wasn't flawless nevertheless it was something that made him feel not 100% crazy.

 

//

 

As soon as his parents had left the house the young guitarist grabbed a few drinks from the fridge, his guitar and made a beeline for the bottom of his garden, unsure of what to expect nonetheless expecting something. Before he had even reached the end of the garden though Graham saw Damon, or more appropriately Damon's head, cautiously peeking out of the bushes. If Graham didn't (vaguely) know the other boy he would have assumed that Damon was scoping out the house to break in. Nevertheless he motioned for Damon to come into the garden, holding up the drinks. Exiting the bush in a way that was akin to a slightly sloppy forward roll, the farie brushed the leaves out of his hair and gave Graham a grin that incited a little bit of terror. Oh dear.

"I suppose you've got some questions," Damon beamed, throwing himself down onto the grass without a care and Graham found himself nodding quite furiously, sitting down with a tad more grace.  Once he was comfortable the young boy popped the cap of the first ginger beer and handed it to Damon before opening his own. "And I wouldn't want you to be scared of me so you can ask whatever you like, within reason of course. Nothin' too personal just yet."

"I know it sounds stupid out loud, but are you really a farie? Really? You're not just fucking with me?" Graham asked, his own worries spilling over far too quickly for his liking. Chuckling at the slight outburst Damon hummed a yes, sipping from his bottle as he started to soak up the sun. "So where do you live then?"  Not opening an eye, the farie gestured to the woods with his thumb. Graham blinked once, not quite sure if the other boy was taking the piss.

 "...So you live in the woods like Winnie the Pooh?" Graham cautiously  asked and Damon spat out his ginger beer in disgust.

"Winnie the what?!?!"                                                                               

"Winnie the Pooh! P-O-O-H. Y'know, the yellow bear with a red shirt that eats honey and lives the 100 acre woods? What about Christopher Robin? Piglet? Surely you know about Tigger?" Graham continued, the blank look on Damon's face said it all and Graham even tried singing the theme tune in case that would jog some hidden memory. " "Stuffed with fluff"?" Even more silence. "Maybe you are a mystical creature after all,"

"And why is that so hard to believe?!?" The other boy replied, a little bit of frustration leaking into his voice and as if to articulate himself better to Graham he waved his bottle rather obnoxiously to make a point, gesturing to the summer sky. Watching his new friend's bright blue eyes flash in the sunlight Graham felt his heart suddenly jolt, as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. This was a first, Graham hadn't felt anything like this before, not even with Alex who was Graham's closest friend in the whole wide world and who admittedly Graham had contemplated waking over, only once mind you. Maybe it was the cheekbones. Yeah, it probably was. Pausing to put down his bottle, Damon took in Graham's deer-in-headlights expression with a wince. "I'm sorry, it's just that I didn't think you would actuall-"

"I believe you" Graham softly said, letting Damon trail off and the two fell into a content silence, sipping their beverages. Graham observed that the can felt clammy against his palms before realizing he was nervously sweating a bit. Lying down on his back so his face was under the shadow of the edges of the tree, Graham scrunched up his face to stare at Damon's side profile as the farie stared intently at the ginger bear label and could faries read? Probably not, Graham decided. He would be lovely to paint though, he couldn't help but think, eyes, complexion, nose.  Yes, Graham could sketch Damon and send it to Alex too see if he if too thought this boy was just as pretty. Stretching his legs, Graham felt the plaster on his knee crinkle a little and caught Damon glancing at it in concern. "it's okay now," he found himself saying. "Hurt allot last but I'm alright now"

"I'm glad," Damon said quite quickly, then before the awkward-not-awkward pause had a chance to set in he flopped backwards to join Graham on the ground. "Sorry if I'm coming off odd, I just haven't done the human thing in a while".

"How long?"

"Eighteen human  years, since the last long-term owner of the cottage died, nature bless her spirit. The rest have all been holiday makers or temporary  dwellers. No one who I can make a real connection with. Ahhhh Kate." Pausing for a second he decided to carry on, closing his eyes as Gra turned his head to watch him speak. "It was cancer for her in the end. When she was well though she practically raised me, found me as  a changeling running around naked in the woods (Graham tried not to think about this for too long), clothed me and taught me English, that's how I can talk to you. She'd never married, had no kids and not even a cat!  Just had books and a space in her heart for a wild thing like me"

In Graham's chest he felt a perplexing mix of things- jealously that Damon obviously loved someone so deeply even if it was non romantic, confusion to why he was jealous at this and also admiration for "Kate", whoever she was. Closing his eyes, he decided to focus on Damon's voice and the warmth coming from his not too close but still close enough body and sell of ginger beer and cut grass. He didn't remember when their conversation ended but he did remember giving Damon a soft hug before he disappeared through the bush, the sun setting behind   the shadowy forest.


End file.
